Green Blooded Hobgoblin
by T.L. Imela
Summary: Bones imagines that Spock is incapable of experiencing a single, warm, decent feeling, but Spock soon proves him wrong. One shot.


**Green-Blooded Hobgoblin**

Spock watched McCoy closely; his dark eyes boring intensely as the doctor tried to stabilize their captain and mutual close friend, James Kirk.

"Will he be alright, Doctor?" Spock murmured, the words rumbling from his throat softly, as if to speak any louder would somehow harm Jim, who was currently lying on the sickbay table with a rather nasty-looking head wound.

"He's going to make it." McCoy hissed, and Spock noted the angry tension in his voice. "He just needs rest."

Spock pursed his lips, his hands clasped tightly together behind his back. "Then I will notify the crew..."

McCoy spun around, his light blue eyes flashing. "But he _almost _died, Spock! What were you thinking, letting Jim go into that cave alone? Even if he insisted, you must've known how damn irresponsible it was..."

Spock's jaw hardened. He did not need the doctor to lecture him on what had taken place. He had witnessed it all so vividly himself—had second guessed himself for hours after the fact—and had struggled endlessly to maintain the stoicism that could never waver from his face...a face that could not betray worry...could not betray fear...could not betray friendship and endearment...

He shifted his weight thoughtfully, trying to suppress the heaving rise and fall of his chest. "It was only logical that an officer remain behind in case of..."

"Damn it, man, don't you even care? This man calls himself your friend and you stand there and talk about logic and regulations..." McCoy inched closer, his features darkened with a passionate anger, his hand moving to point a finger towards Spock's face.

Spock felt a scorching heat burn across his chest, painfully familiar with the fact that he was experiencing the pangs of anger...an anger he grappled with even now to keep from bursting forth from him. He felt hot air snort from his nose as he clenched his jaw even more furiously, his eyes now a smoldering black of raging intensity.

"If that is all, Doctor..." He hissed, turning on his heels fluidly, trying to leave the room...leave behind the guilt that followed him...that berated him in his mind that perhaps he should _not _have so rigidly held to Starfleet Regulation. He especially tried to leave behind the anger that threatened to course through his veins wildly uncontrolled...leave behind the doctor and his madly infuriating words.

"Why, you pointy-eared hobgoblin!" McCoy snapped, his voice hissing with frustration as he grabbed Spock's shoulders and spun him around; the Vulcan's eyes widened in surprise at the fast and unexpected motion.

"What's the matter with you, Spock?" McCoy continued, his blue eyes striking Spock's darker gaze like lightening; the doctor's hand gripping his broad shoulder all the more tightly. "Aren't you capable of a single...warm...decent feeling?"

Spock hesitated...his own eyes smoldering...burning...before he knew he could not hesitate any longer. He slowly reached down and grabbed McCoy's wrist in his large hand, firmly bringing the doctor's hand off from his now heaving shoulders. Spock continued his unwavering gaze into those bright blue eyes...now drawing himself up to his full height...he was so much taller and stronger than the man who angrily stood before him.

McCoy seemed to notice this for the first time; a different look now shining in those brilliant eyes. His eyes widened, unable to take his gaze away from the Vulcan's striking features. He gave a quick glance down at his wrist, Spock's hand still enveloping it.

Spock tried to ignore his now belabored breathing, tried to ignore the trembling of the doctor's hand gripped tightly in his own. McCoy was now watching Spock in a way that the doctor had only a few times before...and _this _time it felt particularly unnerving. Spock felt a shiver run down his spine.

Spock's breath came out of his nose in short, heated spurts. His eyes slipped closed, relieving McCoy of the almost unbearably intense glare. The Vulcan bent his head down slightly; intent on making up the difference in their height.

McCoy felt his breath catch in his throat; his wrist now shaking freely under Spock's grip. He watched as Spock leaned towards him, eyes closed, his nose brushing softly against McCoy's forehead, his warm breath heating McCoy's flushed face.

They had been this close only a few times before...and every time Spock had released the doctor...he had turned and walked away without even a word of explanation...

McCoy felt his own eyes slip shut as Spock's soft, supple lips finally pressed into his own. He let out a shaky gasp, his heart slowing to a crawl in his chest. He gave a small start in his head..._I'm too damn old for this!_

But Spock's lips were so warm...and moved so passionately against his own...McCoy couldn't help himself as he pressed his own lips closer and deeper into Spock's. His free hand...the hand that was not restrained by the Vulcan's grip...moved uncertainly to Spock's still heaving shoulder. He whispered his hand against the taller man's chest lightly, feeling the sinewy muscle beneath the blue uniform, feeling the lean contours of his form. McCoy's hand hesitated on Spock's lower side...he felt the Commander's heart thudding wildly in his stomach. It was the only sign that this intimate contact was having any effect on the Vulcan; and McCoy relished the sensation...the unfamiliar feel fluttering beneath his fingertips.

Spock seemed appreciative of the doctor's gentle touch; a soft and breathy moan slipping through the heated mouth that continued to soundlessly brush against the doctor's...Spock's eyes still lightly closed...his teeth grazing McCoy's lips ever so gently.

McCoy felt his fingers twitch on Spock's side...the heartbeat still drumming out of control. Spock moved to press his lips firmly against the corner of the doctor's mouth, the tip of his nose pressing into the side of McCoy's face.

McCoy couldn't help it as a small groan escaped him. Spock was now stroking his face tenderly with one large, soft hand. The Vulcan trailed his sensitive fingers across the other man's face, Spock's lips still firmly nipping and teasing the corner of McCoy's mouth. For all his gruffness, the doctor was at heart an emotional, romantic man and it had been far too long since he had been touched so intimately. He began to moan softly, but Spock silenced him by placing a strong, reassuring hand behind his neck, stroking the wisps of graying brown hair found there. McCoy's fingers twitched again, he slowly began to move his hand lower once more...but it was at this movement that Spock started to pull away. The Vulcan's breathing was still coming out of his nose in rather laborious bursts. He took only a moment more to press his forehead against McCoy's, leaving a scorching sensation as he did so. It felt as if a wild fire burned without containment against McCoy's mind...he felt his own heart thud in his chest as his stomach tightened.

As Spock straightened himself back up to his full height, McCoy noted that his face was again as passionless as always. However, the doctor was deeply pleased to see the green hue that had gathered in the Vulcan's cheeks and was now spreading across the bridge of his nose.

_Aren't you capable of a single...warm...decent feeling..._

"Does that answer your previous question..." Spock's deep voice murmured; the sound vibrating heavily in his throat. "...Bones?"

"Spock..." McCoy breathed, and the soft Southern tone was delightful to Spock's sensitive ears...much nicer than the doctor's usual gruff manner of speaking.

Spock gave a small rise of his eyebrow, and McCoy could've sworn there was a ghost of a smile present. Without another word, the Vulcan Commander turned sharply to the right, and in three long strides he exited sickbay...his back muscles moving fluidly beneath his blue uniform top as he walked...the leanness of his lower body disappearing as the doors shut...McCoy now knew how that body felt as his hands continued to burn from the touch.

McCoy gazed around sickbay wildly...his own breathing coming out shallow and in short heaves...he placed one hand against his medical table in hopes to stabilize himself again. His mind was reeling as he relived the scene over and over again in his head...he thought he had known Spock so well..._thought_ he had known everything about the cold, unfeeling Vulcan...

His ears picked up a stirring noise; he turned to see Jim beginning to open his eyes. He felt relief flood him and struggled to regulate his breathing. He rushed over to his friend's side, placing a sturdy hand on his captain's shoulder. "Jim...how do you feel?"

"_Physically_...I'm feeling better..." Jim mused, rubbing his head rather pointedly. "What did I miss while I was out? Where's Spock?"

McCoy could only give Jim a rather pointed stare, his insides still churning uncertainly. "Probably off being perfectly logical, as usual."

Jim gave a soft chuckle. "That does sound like our Mr. Spock..." He then let out an equally soft groan. "Mm...I hit my head harder than I thought."

"I want you to rest, Jim." McCoy insisted, his gruffness now returning. He watched contently as Jim lay back down on the sickbay bed to sleep.

Assured that Jim would be fine, McCoy returned to the unfiltered thoughts that ravaged his mind. He leaned his back up against his medical table...his hands running slowly through his graying brown hair, before pressing his fingers firmly to his forehead. He gave a low whistle, and glanced at the sickbay doors...remembering the Vulcan that had stood there only moments ago. McCoy pursed his lips...they still burned from their short and heated exchange with the Commander.

McCoy shook his head, running another hand through his hair. "Damn green-blooded hobgoblin..."


End file.
